The Waiting
by Mommints
Summary: Inspired by another, this is a short story about the wife of Ardeth, her POV in waiting for him to return from battle. Summary may be bad but please read...thanks


The Waiting  
  
Disclaimer: The character of Ardeth Bay belongs to Stephen Sommers and Universal Studios. No infringement intended. All other characters belong to the author.  
  
What brought about the creation of this short story? Inspiration my friends from Marxbros short story called "The Return." Plain and simple inspiration. Many thanks to her for such a wonderful story. Hope you enjoy mine. Feedback is always appreciated….Shukran.  
  
~*~  
  
"The warriors return!" The sentry cried as he rode through the village. "The warriors return!"  
  
How often have I longed to hear those words? It seems like a long, dark endless eternity that I have spent waiting for my warrior husband to return. Anticipation mingled with fear stall my movements and for a moment I let the fear govern me. What if he does not return? What if he is wounded or worse, what if he has been killed? I clutch the covers to my chest like a blanket of security, as if to shield me from my duty as wife to the commander of our tribe. I stay wrapped in the warmth of the pallet, and absently gaze over to the side where my husband has lain for so many nights, the spot now empty and cold. My hand glides over the place where his dark head would lay nestled on the pillow and a sudden piercing ache invades my heart.  
  
Merciful Allah I have missed him.  
  
Before I lose what courage I have gathered, I jump off the pallet and grab a nearby shawl. I run out into the cool night, emerge into the scattered traffic of women who are my friends and neighbors as we make our hurried progress to the main square. Normally we would chat amongst ourselves, delighting in the opportunity to strengthen the bonds of friendship with each other since we all share one common thread, wives of a Medjai warrior. Instead the night has an eerie hush fall over it as we wait in tense silence, watching the warriors return sometimes in pairs or small groups.  
  
An occasional soft cry of happiness or despair breaks the silence and we look at one another, knowing when joy turns to sorrow, when husband and mate fail to return safe and unharmed. I seek out my friends and we all share the same apprehension, eyes meeting eyes only for a brief instant to acknowledge our shared pain, then glance away when more riders come in.  
  
Is my husband among them? I do not see his horse.  
  
I clutch the shawl around my shoulders, grimly aware that the crowd around me has dwindled down, as wife continues to meet warrior. I am eventually left almost alone and never have I felt so vulnerable.  
  
So afraid.  
  
Commander Nabil, visiting from the Fifth, has returned and his lathered horse skids to a dusty halt. As a courtesy, two widows of the tribe whose duty is to take care of the unmarried warriors meet him and lead him away to food and a hot bath. He is exhausted yet sees me standing with a few women in the square and pulls away from the widows for a moment, the expression on his face unreadable.  
  
I somehow manage to walk over to him, my legs shaking with every step but I hold my head high, gathering the shreds of my dignity and courage around me like a defensive shield.  
  
My vision of him is obscured for a moment when a cloud passes over the luminous light of the moon and I am confronted with a shadowy specter, dark and foreboding. Involuntarily I step back in fear.  
  
The moon's light suddenly shines down on us, revealing the dark splotches covering Nabil's robe and I cover my mouth in horror, yet my small whimper of fright manages to escape. Nabil reaches out with a steady hand on my shoulder and quickly utters meaningless words meant to console me.  
  
"Mati'ayyati, min fadlik, there is nothing to fear," Nabil rapidly murmurs over and over but I hear nothing until he finally says, "He has returned."  
  
Gently he turns me around to face the square once again. With a supporting hand placed on the small of my back, he guides me over to where my husband's horse has come to rest and pushes me forward.  
  
"Go ya hilwai al saaHib…your husband needs you," Nabil gently urges me.  
  
I hear him walk away but my eyes are only for Ardeth. He has dismounted from his horse, every movement underlined with fatigue and waits for me to approach him.  
  
I take small tentative steps forward, my practiced eye sweeping over his tall form, seeking out any injury until finally we are standing in front of the other. I gaze up into his handsome face and I am helpless to stop myself from laying a tender hand against his dirt-covered cheek. Emotions well up inside of me and threaten to spill forth from my eyes when he covers my hand with his own. We stand together in a silence pregnant with emotions.  
  
"Take me home, ya sitt," Ardeth finally murmurs in a husky voice. "I find I need for you to wash the filth of battle from my body."  
  
"Just as I will wash it from your soul," I answer. "Daiman, ya hayati."  
  
He gently removes my hand and places a kiss in the center of my palm, the soft texture of his mustache tickling my skin and making my fingers curl involuntarily. Still holding onto it, he brings my arm under his and hauls me up against his body as we start to walk back home. We talk little until we reach the doorway and I usher my weary warrior inside.  
  
In a huge steel tub, I bathe him, washing away the dirt and blood from his skin as he strives to wash away the guilt from performing his obligation. The warrior in him understands the necessary duty but it is the man I worry over and how he strives to maintain a balance between the two. He leans his dark head against the rim and closes his eyes, allowing himself final relaxation as I continue to lather his body and rinse it clean.  
  
Reluctantly, I gently tap him on the shoulder and with soft words rouse him from a light slumber. He steps from the tub, nude and resplendent as I lovingly dry his lean, muscular body, wiping away tiny droplets of water. I can feel the tension slowly ease out of him and we are wrapped in a silence that is both companionable and comforting.  
  
When he is too tired to eat, I take him to bed, laying his weary head on my breast so he can hear the reassuring beat of my heart. We will wrap each other in the warm sanctuary of the other's arms and during the long dark hours of the night, he will reach for me and I will respond, with all my heart and soul.  
  
The waiting is over… 


End file.
